


The ode to the marinara stain on my white shirt

by Quyinn



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dog Roach (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Nightmares, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia has PTSD, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roach is the Best (The Witcher), Roommates, tag it like its twitter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quyinn/pseuds/Quyinn
Summary: ... it was all your fault anyway--another ohmygodtheyreroommates au
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ratings and tags will change as chapters are uploaded :))

A knock at the door rouses Geralt from his bed. Roach lifts her shaggy head from his stomach, curling around herself. 

It takes him a few minutes to find the energy to open his eyes, the tickle of dog hair under his nose urges his arm to move. The knocking turns into bangs against his door. Geralt shivers, rubbing one hand over Roach’s back.

A dull shout from a familiar voice soothes the bubbling panic in his chest.

“Guess I’ll go see who that is by myself, huh?” He strokes down Roach’s back, using the heel of his foot to pull the leg of his sweatpants back down over his shin. His bare feet are cold on the laminate flooring. 

He pulls on a black hoodie, not bothering to zip it up over his bare chest as he walks through to the door. He yawns, ducking into the kitchen to flick the kettle on as he goes.

“Eskel. What are you doing here?” Geralt doesn’t hold the door open, more so Eskel wedges his shoulder between the door and the frame and invites himself in.

“Given the fact it's almost two in the afternoon, I'm enjoying my day.” Geralt stares at him, unimpressed by the grin that tugs at the scarred skin of his cheeks. Eskel’s arms are splayed wide in the doorway and if Geralt was anyone else, he might have believed that as it. 

“Cut the crap.” He sighs, running one hand through his tangled bed hair.

“I’ve found you a new roommate.” Eskel drops his arms and strides in. He smells like engine oil and inconvenience. Eskel wipes his boots at the door but reaches for Geralt’s shoulder with a wide-grinned chuckle.

“I told you I don’t need a fucking roo-”

“Not listening, brother dear.” Eskel sings. Geralt growls, ducking the outstretched hand by turning his back on Eskel, heading to the kitchen. “Coffee if you’re making.” Eskel calls through. He hears the door close. “You drink coffee? Tea? “

“Tea would be nice, thank you.” Geralt pauses at the british voice.

“He’s a terrible host, absolutely awful with people. Aren’t you, Geralt?” Eskel raises his voice, despite knowing Geralt can hear him just fine.

“Fuck off.” Geralt gets out three cups, glaring at the kettle. He watches the water bubble, feeling his own breathing strain as Eskel chats to the apparent stranger in his living room.

“Oh! This is Roach. She’s a lovely girl, protective of her dad. Shepherd cross Newfie, isn’t she? Yes she is!” Geralt scoops out instant coffee grounds into two of the cups, a teabag in the other, rolling his eyes with a hard blink as Eskel coos at his dog. 

“Sugar?” His brother asks. 

“Two please, and milk.” The voice is familiar. Geralt frowns, thinking hard. It’s not like he goes out to meet people. Around the park to walk Roach. The store next to his building if he desperately needs something. The people who deliver his groceries.

Geralt puts sugar in one of the mugs, as well as his own cup, and grabs the milk from the fridge, splashing some in the cup. He picks the kettle up just before it clicks off, filling up the cups. Shifting his weight from cold foot, to cold foot, Geralt stirs the tea, seeping it till it's a darkish brown and binning the bag before stirring the coffees. He carries through his cup and the tea, setting them on the coffee table. 

“Get your own.” Geralt grunts, sitting in the middle of the sofa. Eskel glares at him, getting off the floor where Roach laid in his lap. 

He finally looks over to the stranger. 

He’s sat at the edge of Roach’s armchair, guitar case propped against his leg. Geralt turns the handle of the mug towards him, who smiles nodding his head in thanks. 

Geralt recognises the choppy brown hair, the bright eyes. He remembers seeing him at Eskel’s birthday.

He recognises the blue eyes, seeing them gleeful under paint splattered goggles at Eskel’s birthday party a few months ago. He remembers hauling the kid up from where he had tripped over his own feet and over a hay bale, tying his boot lace as the kid covered him. He remembers the plotting look in his eyes, the wink as the kid tackled Lambert to the dirt with a surprising amount of strength to give Geralt an opening to fire neon green paintballs at Eskel and a few others that cowered in badly sheltered pairs.

Roach yawns, climbing up beside Geralt and curling around him. 

“Eskel said she’s a support dog?” The kid’s voice is soft and polite, nothing like the hurried shouts of competition heard through Geralt’s ear defenders.

“Hmm.” Geralt jerks his chin in a nod, settling one of his hands on Roach’s side. Her fur is soft between his fingers, her heartbeat steady. 

“It’s nice to meet her.” He has a nice smile, Geralt notices. He’s dressed in badly ripped jeans, battered red converse and a threadbare shirt with some peeling print on the front. A rainbow baja hoodie is folded over one skinny arm, resting in his lap.

Eskel comes back through, sitting on the edge of the armchair, his cup in his hand.

“Bastard didn’t even put milk in my cup.” Eskel curls his lip in a mock snarl. Geralt returns it with bared teeth.

“Lucky I put water in it.” Geralt grumbles. 

“Anyway, as I was telling Jaskier on the walk up here, you’ve become quite the recluse. Even Lambert’s worried about you.” Geralt glowers at him. “Don’t give me that.” Eskel laughs, arm slung over Jaskier’s shoulders. “You don’t suit a hermit, Geralt.”

“And how is a roommate supposed to help?” 

“Jaskier does mornings at the library, and sometimes gigs at night.” Eskel takes a long drink, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“I don’t need a stranger ordering my life.”

“Good job it’s your brother doing it then isn't it!” Eskel grins. “Bring your cup or it’ll get cold.” Eskel gets to his feet, urging Jaskier to follow him with a hand on his shoulder. Slipping one arm through his guitar strap, he pulls it over his shoulder and follows Eskel across the room.

“So, kitchen; bare essentials as Geralt doesn’t look too much nowadays. If you can get him in the mood to make waffles, your life will change.” Eskel waves his hand dramatically. Jaskier nods, sipping his drink as he leans against the breakfast bar. He seems content to watch Eskel add more water to his coffee, smiling shyly whenever he catches Geralt’s eye 

Geralt follows them with his arms folded over his chest as they start down the small hallway to the bedrooms. He kept his hands wedged under his armpits to stop them shaking. 

“Geralt’s room, Roach sleeps in with him so his bedroom door isn’t ever closed.” Eskel gestures to the open doorway. Geralt breaths out slowly, trying to relax. 

He swallows as Jaskier makes no effort to look in the room. Instead, he brushes his hair out of his eyes and pats Roach when she rubs her head against his thigh. 

“Gotcha.” Jaskier nods, turning to smile at Geralt in a way that makes Geralt feel weirdly  _ seen _ , as if he actually understands.

“This will be your room, you can do whatever to it.” Eskel opens the door opposite Geralt’s room with a hard smack of his palm.

“Within reason.” Geralt growls. Jaskier chuckles, ducking in the room. 

“Mm, I don't know if all my stuff will fit in here.” He takes a slow sip from his cup as he surveys the room, taking in the double bed, empty shelves and the wide window. He props his guitar case beside the bed, stepping back and putting a hand on his hip. He eyed the case critically, heaving a long sigh. “Oh, a tight fit.” 

Eskel laughs, drinking the rest of his coffee down with a noisy slurp.

“I expect you to talk to him.” Eskel moves into Geralt’s space, resting a gentle hand to his shoulder. 

“Why, what haven't you told him?” Geralt bites tightly.

“I know your anxiety bothers you, and you’re noise sensitive. I also know you’re grumpy, but that’s just based on the fact you’ve  _ growled _ at me like, four times.” Jaskier quirks a confident smile, sipping his tea. 

“Don’t forget the depression.” Eskel chimes in, as an ever-so helpful brother would.

“I’m not fucking depressed.”

“No, but you might find yourself getting there.” Eskel raises an eyebrow, squeezing Geralt's shoulder a final time before falling to his knees and burying his hands in Roach’s fur. 

“Oh, she’s such a good girlie!” Eskel coos as Roach climbs into his lap, heavy paws settling on his shoulders. Eskel scoops her up, rocking her with a grin. “Geralt, she says you’ve gotta be nice to your brother. Yes, she does.” He buries his face in her neck, peppering kisses over her fur.

“I was nice to Lambert a week ago. Brought him clean clothes.” Geralt grunts. “Put her down or you’ll spoil her.” 

“She deserves to be spoilt, don’t you? Yes, she does!” Eskel straightens, mock blindly walking into Geralt. He rolls his eyes as Eskel presses their shoulders together as he sways on one foot, Roach leaning into his space to lick over his jaw. 

“And I don’t know if it counts as 'being nice' when he got mugged and ended up with a stab wound and blood over his clothes.” Eskel raises an eyebrow in Jaskier’s direction. 

“I could have left him to bleed.” Geralt grumbles, remembering stitching his brother’s shoulder closed with a leather needle and half a bottle of vodka, his fingers sticky with drink and blood crusted under his nails. 

“But you didn’t!” Eskel cheers. “You went and rescued him. Yes, you did, yes, you did!” Eskel rubs his face in Roach’s neck with a grin. “Such a good girlie, putting up with a miserable rock. Yes, she is!” 

“Yes, okay.” Geralt can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “She’s a good girl.” Geralt tells her quietly, pursing his lips to brush the top of Roach’s head. 

“She’s also fat!” Eskel wheezes, leaning against Geralt more heavily. 

“She’s not fat, you’re fat.” Geralt mutters. He throws a glance over his shoulder to where Jaskier is sitting on the edge of the bed, guitar case propped between his knees and a soft look on his face. “Shut up.” He clenches his jaw as Jaskier smiles. 

“Did you want to discuss rent and…” Jaskier waves one hand as if Geralt is meant to understand. He raises an eyebrow, only breaking his glare when Eskel elbows him as he puts Roach back on the floor. 

“Want me to drop your stuff off later? I’ll come by on my way to work.” Eskel asks, brushing dog hair off his white shirt. Geralt sighs, shaking his head.

“Don’t need a roommate.” 

“Sound’s good to me.” Jaskier talks over him with a bright grin. Eskel nods approvingly. 

“Good lad. I’ll get you a key cut by Friday.” Jaskier hums. Geralt picks Eskel’s cup up off the floor and heads to the kitchen. He rinses it out, dog hair already stuck to the inside, before leaving it in the sink with the company of two plates and a sad fork.

He hears the door open, turning to see Eskel pull Jaskier in for a hug. Jaskier’s long arms are around his neck and his eyes are closed with a soft smile. 

“Look after him.” Eskel lets go of Jaskier but glances over his shoulder at Geralt. Geralt rolls his eyes and nods as Jaskier bounces lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Of course I will. Thank you, again.”

“Kid, you can’t thank me for not letting you be homeless.” Jaskier rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. He points an actual finger at Geralt instead of a glare. 

“You, play nice. I’ve known Jaskier long enough to know he can kick your ass if you overstep but,” Eskel narrows his eyes, a smirk playing on the corner of his mouth. “If I find out you forget your manners, I’ll sneak in and draw a tiny little middle finger on one of the pages of your books.”

“Eskel.” Geralt clenches his jaw. Roach leans heavily against his legs. 

They don’t say goodbye. 

Eskel taps two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute and closes the door. Geralt jams his hands into his hoodie pockets, staring at a patch of dog hair just to the left of Jaskier’s foot.

“Would he really vandalise your books?” Jaskier breaks the uneasy silence. When Geralt finally pulls his gaze up over the ripped jeans and ratty shirt, Jaskier has a wide, comfortable grin on his face.

“He likes to consider himself a vessel for the devil himself.” Geralt sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“How do you know he isn’t?” Jaskier quirks an eyebrow, hands fidgeting awkwardly at his sides. Geralt gestures to the armchair with a click of his tongue as he heads back to the kitchen. He flicks the kettle on again, Roach jumping up on her armchair.

“Lucifer is such a middle child. He couldn’t be the big brother if he tried.” Geralt rolls his eyes as Jaskier settles into a corner of the sofa.

“Hang on, are you saying that the actual Devil couldn’t act as the big brother? Have you forgotten the other two archangels and maybe the fact he rules hell?” Geralt snorts with a slight shake of his head.

“The older brother isn’t the one that throws a big enough tantrum that God literally threw him out of Heaven. That’s ‘desperate for approval’ younger brother attitude right there.” 

“Oh, so now he’s the youngest child? Get your story straight.” Jaskier teases with a wave of his fingers.

“I’m not saying he’s the younger brother, I’m saying he’s anything but the eldest.” Geralt eases himself on the other end of the couch and props his elbow on the arm of the sofa, resting his head in his hand. 

“Are you even religious? You’re very passionate about where Lucifer fell off the family tree.” Jaskier leans back into the corner of the couch, arm resting along the back of it to look at Geralt without straining his neck.

“No, I have a middle child complex resulting from an overbearing older brother and a little shit of a younger brother.” Geralt huffs, a little defeated. 

“Oh! So, you’re the Lucifer in this situation.” Jaskier’s delighted chuckle is infectious and Geralt pushes off the couch to hide his laugh. 

“Absolutely not. Want another drink?” 

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Jaskier follows him, veering into the small bedroom. He comes into the kitchen, jumper half pulled over his head, cup in an outstretched hand. Geralt takes it from him gingerly, spooning the sugar out, and finding another teabag. 

“I’m not sure what Eskel told you, but I don’t need help with rent or bills or anything.”

“Yeah, this is more of a ‘so you don’t die alone’ kind of deal.” Jaskier says from somewhere inside his hoodie. 

“Something like that” Geralt disguises a laugh with the huff of a sigh “Whatever you’re making, maybe 30% can go towards rent and you can forget about the other stuff.” 

Jaskier struggles to get his head out of the jumper, the pointy hood catching over his face. Geralt pours the water for their drinks with a measured sigh. 

“Oh- ah, that’s very generous of you.” Jaskier finally rights his clothing, a slight blush colouring his cheeks. 

“I’m ex-military, I have a government funded retirement account and I find it difficult to be around people for extended periods of time.” Geralt grits his teeth. 

“Okay.” Jaskier says gently. “I’ve known Eskel since college, met him at a concert and I actually moved to the US after flying out to play at a party for him.” Jaksier pauses, biting at the bed of his thumb nail.

“You don’t have to tell me anything.” Geralt tries for a tone that isn’t blunt and uncaring. 

“No, man, you should at least have a reason to why I’m even in your apartment in the first place. So, I moved here from Newcastle and got some work in the bar on the corner of 7th, you know the one? Against my, now better, judgement, I got involved with one of the bartenders there and It all kind of went south from there. So, here I am.” 

Jaskier spread his arms, waggling them with a grin. Geralt huffs through his nose, stirring the tea. 

Jaskier smells like old spice lavender. 

“Get the milk.” He nods to the fridge beside Jaskier. 

“Here,” Jaskier passes him the carton, putting it back without prompting and accepting his cup readily. “Anyway, since I can barely tolerate your avid interest in my life-” Jaskier winks, holding the cup close to his chest. “I’ve been sofa surfing for maybe two months? I was staying at Eskel’s for, like, five nights before he told me you’d  _ love _ to have some company.” 

“That’s for groceries, add whatever you want and I’ll pick it up later.” Geralt taps the notepad by the microwave. He took his own cup and retreated back into the living room. 

“Come on, man! You’ve gotta tell me more. Just a little bit about the anxiety? Or the noise?” Jaskier skirts around the breakfast bar to chase after him. 

He settles into the sofa beside Geralt, with one foot tucked under his ass as if he’s spent weeks in Geralt’s apartment. 

Geralt grits his teeth, closing his eyes for a long moment. He focuses on the dull heat of his coffee, both palms pressed to the sides of the cup. 

“I get-” Geralt sighs. “Distressed when there’s too much noise. Or loud noises. Or when someone talks to me for too long. Or when someone chews too loudly. Or clocks ticking.” Jaskier hums softly beside him. “Sometimes even touch is too much. My, uhm.  My ex girlfriend didn't want to be with me. Said I came home a different person.” 

Geralt wants to take the words back as soon as they leave his mouth. He stares at his lap, watching the coffee in the cup shake. 

“So existing outside this flat is pretty difficult, huh?” Jaskier says softly. Geralt glances at him and immediately hates the look of understanding on the man’s face. Where was the confusion or disbelief? 

“I gotta warn you, man. I’m not a still person. I’m a musician, so I’m almost always doing something, y’know?” Geralt dips his head. “So, let me know if it’s irritating you and I’ll stop.” Jaskier smiles honestly. “I’d rather you didn’t have a roommate you completely hate, even if you hate me a little bit on principle.”

Geralt lets his mouth twist into a grimace.

“Eskel bet Lambert you’d kick me out before the week is over.” Jaskier continues, “But Lambert gives you three days. Hang on, do you not have a tv? Geralt, what the fuck, man?”

Geralt lets his eyes close, strands of hair falling around his face as he controls his breathing. The room felt too small for two people. Geralt tries to ignore the claustrophobic feeling. Jaskier continues to chatter away at a low volume, eventually getting up and poking around.

“Anyway, I’m sure I can live without a TV. I knit sometimes but I bet the clicking might irritate you so I’ll stay in my room if I ever do that. Actually I probably shouldn’t hole up somewhere ‘cus I’ll probably forget what day it is and forget to eat and stuff. What do you do for breakfast? Do you eat breakfast? I get up around half 8 to be at work close to 10 so I can make breakfast. Eskel mentioned waffles but are they breakfast waffles or-”

“I don’t eat breakfast.” 

Jaskier pauses, hands on his hips. He tips his head to meet Geralt’s eye, hair falling over his eyes.

“Well, I’m sure we can figure something out.” 


	2. Chaper 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: descriptions of aniexty/panic attacks. take care of yourselves yall x

Oddly enough, they do.

Jaskier isn’t the easiest person to be around, by any stretch of the imagination, but then neither is Geralt. 

Whether it’s Jaskier’s mindless chatter and the drum of his fingers, or Geralt’s bouts of irritability and snapping attitude, coupled with the fact Jaskier knitted him a chunky black beanie on the second day of moving in, and Geralt made him a grilled cheese sandwich when he was half falling asleep on the couch before dinner, they somehow work.

Almost every morning, Geralt wakes up to the smell of coffee. The quiet hum of Jaskier singing as he waits for the toaster. The dig of Roach’s claws as she stretches over his lap and kicks off his thigh. Jaskier’s laughter as he tells her to  _ “Hang tight, puppy, it’s almost done _ .”

He stays in bed, the sheet twisted in his legs with an arm thrown over his eyes, until Jaskier knocks on the always open door. 

His hair will be wet from the shower, it always is, as he leans against the doorframe. A cup of coffee will be outstretched, long fingers pink and still pruned. 

“Cme on, big guy. You know the drill.” Jaskier will say gleefully but in an almost coaxing whisper. 

Geralt will wait a minute, or until he hears him huff and moan, “My arm’s getting tired. Maybe your laminate will appreciate a drink?” And instead of pulling his pillow over his face and groaning “ _ fuck off, Jaskier _ ”, Geralt hauls himself to sitting, shoulder stiff and aching. 

He’ll pull a pair of sweatpants on or basketball shorts and lumber across the room with his eyes half closed and take the cup in his two big hands. He lets Jaskier lead the way to the kitchen with a chuckle and the occasional brush of fingers through his untidy bed hair.

He’ll sit across the breakfast bar from Jaskier and chew each mouthful of cheerios until his teeth get with the program of consciousness, or the cereal goes soggy in his mouth, whichever comes first. 

Jaskier flits about his, or their, apartment like he belongs there. 

His jumper thrown over the back of the couch, shoes with their laces pulled out in the vague area of the door from where he kicked them off the night before. There’s even guitar picks and knitting needles down between the couch cushions that Geralt can’t bring himself to move. 

Aside from the constant dog hair clinging to his skirting boards, the apartment feels almost  _ lived in _ , and Geralt... doesn’t hate it. 

Jaskier hums when he, well, does anything, but he keeps the volume low, consistent, and eventually stops drumming his fingers against his knee whenever Geralt enters the room. Geralt thinks he could feel guilty but Jaskier always gives him this  _ smile _ no matter what he’s doing. 

Whether he’s climbing on the counter to reach for the cereal box that Geralt insists lives on top of the cupboard, or sprawled on his back with Roach’s paws crushing his ribs.

Jaskier leaves for work in the morning with toothpaste in the corner of his mouth and jeans that are in one piece. The extra money he’s able to save instead of paying bills has gone straight to his wardrobe. 

Where Geralt doesn’t usually bother with a shirt, sleeping in his boxers and then wearing his sweatpants around the house, Jaskier went a little overboard. Which, now that Geralt thinks about it, isn’t surprising once you get to know Jaskier.

For work, Jaskier stocked up on soft sweaters and black skinny jeans. Button up shirts in bright colours, cornflower blues and a shocking pink that looked almost effortless to pull off under a grey sweater. 

He eventually gets a new pair of converse without holes in the toes and a pair of knee high leather boots with a heel that puts him almost 3 inches taller than Geralt.

For his gigs, Jaskier’s wardrobe seems to do a 180. He has ripped jeans, netted tights, crop tops underneath mesh shirts, lace and colours so bright Geralt gets a headache looking at him for too long.

Jaskier stocks the cupboards when he remembers, they eat together most nights. Sometimes Geralt sits cross legged on the floor, back against his bed and eats alone, Roach in the doorway and Jaskier watching a video on his phone with earphones. 

Maybe they spend an afternoon or two watching TV shows with ear defenders and subtitles because  _ it’s Sherlock, Geralt, have you actually been living under a rock? Oh, stop it with that face- Military trained or not, you don’t scare me. _ Or even a Marvel marathon on Jaskier’s off days where Geralt was subjected to hours of  _ you know what, Geralt? If you don’t understand why Bucky is the best, I don’t have time to explain- No, that’s it! I have to move out, I can't live with someone who’s favorite is the damn Hulk _ .

Once or twice Jaskier hopped down the stairs with him and walked with his fingertips brushing Roach’s fur until they got to the corner shop, Geralt heading off to the dimly lit park and Jaskier ducking inside under fluorescent lights for milk.

When Jaskier gets home from a gig, it’s usually gone three am and Geralt is curled in bed, arm slung over Roach, listening out for the quiet  _ snick _ of a key in the lock. The considerate unlacing of boots and the soft pad of socked feet to get a glass of water and then the opening and closing of the bathroom door. The shower. The toilet. The opening and closing of the bathroom door. The whisper of  _ “Goodnight” _ that he never replies to. The opening and closing of Jaskier’s bedroom door.

And then it starts again. The coffee, the breakfast, the scent of lavender, the  _ normality _ that somehow doesn’t make Geralt want to scrape his skin off with a butterknife.

Geralt frowns when his phone buzzes on the breakfast bar, interrupting the soft lull of Hozier. 

He steps over Roach, reaching for his phone with one hand, the other stirring the pot on the stove. 

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 13:07 _

_ hey big guy _

_ jus lettin u know am not gona have time to come home _

_ will eat at gig  _

_ pls save me pasta uno i love ur cooking _

_ See u tomora xo _

_ To _ :  **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 13:09 _

_ When I say you can borrow my phone, that doesn’t mean you can change your contact info.  _

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 13:11 _

_ noo dont change my name back _

_ how else will i know im special to u _

_ whered we get to about that pasta ;))) _

Geralt sighs, stirring the sauce absentmindedly. 

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 13:15 _

_ hey geralt _

_ geralt _

_ geralt i know ur there _

_ stop ignoring me _

_ geralt _

_ u suck just answer me  _

_ we both know its easier _

_ geralt _

_ gerald _

_ goreld _

_ gerbear _

_ To: _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 13:18 _

_ Shut up _

_ From: _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 13:18 _

_ gotcha B))) _

_ anyway _

_ pasta ? _

_ To: _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 13:19 _

_ Fine.  _

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 13:21 _

_ and they told me god isnt real ;)) _

_ u da man xo _

_ my boss is staring _

_ creepy _

_ who even said i cant use my phone at work anyway _

_ To:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 13:23 _

_ Didn’t you drop a pile of books on a child when you called me yesterday? _

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 13:24 _

_ she was 17 thats basically a small adult _

_ okay i gotta go big guy _

_ see you when i see you xo _

Geralt shakes his head, the smile on his face making his cheeks hurt.

He drains the pasta, tipping it into the sauce with a sigh. He wasn’t feeling too hungry anymore. 

Instead, he pulls out a few tupperware containers and spoons the pasta into each one, leaving the lids at an angle to allow it to cool down. 

He starts to haul the empty pot over to the sink when his phone blares. The chime is sharp and shrill despite his earplugs.

He drops the pot with a startled grunt, palms pressing over his ears as he snarls. Pasta sauce splashes up his legs and chest, and over the floor. 

With blood pounding in the back of his head, he grabs his phone, glancing at the name but only seeing a blur.

_ “Geralt, I’m only calling because Ciri is insisting you come over.” _

“Huh?” Geralt forces himself to focus as Roach rubs herself against the back of his knees, licking a splash of sauce off his ankle. “Yen?”

“ _ Yes, she’s not feeling well and I think it’d do her good to see you.” _

Geralt can hear Ciri talking in the background, the thought of his daughters wide eyes and gappy smile soothing the ache in his chest.

“Yeah, okay. I can do that. What time?” Geralt rests his elbows on the counter, knees buckling as Roach rests all her weight on him. 

“ _ I’ll treat you both to pizza. Be here anytime after half 2. Ciri would also like you to put her to bed, so Roach might have to eat here.” _

“Of course. Thanks, Yen.”

“ _ Actually get here, then you can thank me.” _ Her voice is clipped but Geralt understands why.

“I’ll be there soon.” 

The call ends with a sharp tap. Geralt lets his phone drop out of his hand, the sound of it ringing still an echo in his head. He focuses on sucking in air, trying not to shake too much as he breathes out with a small sound in the back of his throat. 

“Okay- okay, Roachie.” Geralt lets his knees bend until they hit the floor, Roach settling over his calves. He presses his forehead to the edge of the worktop, chest flush with the cupboard door. 

“Fuck, okay. Roach, up.” Geralt flicks his heel after a long moment of collecting himself, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down. Roach yawns, rolling off his legs with a high whine. He sits back on his heels and pulls his shirt away from where it was stuck to his stomach with sauce. 

Pulling it over his head, Geralt drops it to the laminate floor and shuffles on his knees to clear up the splatters. He gets the pot into the sink easily enough and searches for the spoon.

If he had just been paying more attention then he wouldn’t have dropped the pot- if he hadn’t been thinking about pointless, stupid, frivoulous things then he wouldn’t have fucked it up- if he hadn’t been so distracted then maybe he wouldn’t have proved Yennefer right- if-

Geralt crouches low on the floor, shaking his head sharply. He inches closer to Roach, whose tail is causing drafts. 

“Hey, Roachie. You wana give me that?” Geralt holds out a slow hand. 

Roach watches it approach with a slight head tilt, tongue lolling out of her mouth, the other side of the spoon handle.

“Come on, pretty Roachie. She’s a lovely, pretty Roachie, hmm?” Roach lets out a  _ wuff _ of agreement, dancing out of his reach as his fingertips brush the end of the spoon. “Fuck, Roach! Come here.” Geralt groans, dropping his head to the floor in defeat. 

Roach  _ wuff _ ’s at him from her downward stretch on the couch. Geralt gets to his feet with a grunt, stained white shirt balled up in one hand. He slings it in the laundry basket in the bathroom and gets the bleach spray from under the sink while he’s there. 

He cracks the window open, once he’s scrubbed away any lingering tomato stains off the floor, to air out the room of the bleach smell. 

Geralt dresses quickly, changing from sweatpants to dark jeans and boots, a grey zip-up hoodie and grabs his jacket, phone, Roach’s harness and lead on his way out. He dresses her in the hallway, clipping her lead to her harness that reads  _ ‘support dog _ ’ in reflective silver, and tying the knitted bandana to her collar. Geralt pulls his headphones over his earplugs firmly.

They spend maybe 20 minutes on the subway, Roach sat between his feet, her head on his thigh and his knuckles turning white around her lead.

He can do this. He has to do this. Do this for Ciri,  _ why can’t you show her you care, Geralt? Doesn’t she mean enough to you to visit? _

The doors open and Roach drags him to his feet by the cuff of his leather jacket. They get to Yennefer’s suburban house in reasonable time, Geralt walking a little faster than usual. 

He holds his breath, hesitating just slightly before following the stone path through the lawn to the front door. He sees the curtain flick in the front window. Before Geralt can raise his arm to knock, the door is yanked open and the air is knocked out of him.

“Hey, cub.” He wheezes. Strong little arms wrap around his waist, her head pressing tightly to his stomach. 

“I missed you so much.” Ciri sniffs a little, not loosening her grip, even when Geralt rests a hand on the top of her head. He feels her words, more than hears them. She’s quiet, through the two layers of ear defenders but he knows exactly what she says as a dull ache shoots through his chest.

“Me too, cub.” Geralt pulls his headphones down to sit around his neck, nudging one of the earplugs back in place. “How have you been?” He unclips Roach’s lead and lifts Ciri up to sit on his hip. She’s wearing one of his old college jerseys over her pajamas. 

Geralt swallows the thought of Yennefer’s face whenever Ciri wears his clothes. Instead he focuses on how his daughter’s hands fist in his shirt, her sweaty forehead against his shoulder.

Roach leads the way back inside with a lazy walk. She sticks her nose in Ciri’s football sneakers and rubs against Geralt’s shins when Yennefer greets him with a mug. 

“Here, Ciri wouldn’t drink her tea unless you had some too.” There’s a hypnotic glint in Yennefer’s eye as she passes him the mug. “It’s raspberry and peppermint. To help her not feel so sick.” 

Geral sniffs the cup, mock suspicious and successfully gets a giggle out of Ciri. The steam tickles his nose but when he touches his tongue to the water, it’s not at all hot. 

“That wasn’t as terrible as I thought it would be.” Geralt pulls a face. Ciri’s giggle comes out with more meaning, as she holds Geralt’s wrist and sniffs the cup herself.

“If I drink it, can I have ice cream?” 

“No, you can drink it because I would like you to.” Geralt murmurs against her forehead. “You can have ice cream after dinner because we all deserve treats, hmm?”

“That’s… acceptable.” Ciri sips the tea critically. Geralt sits on one end of the ‘L’ shaped sofa, Roach jumping up to curl in the corner. Ciri tucks herself into Geralt’s jacket. 

“You look good. How have you been?” Geralt asks quietly, stroking a hand down Ciri’s back. 

Yennefer smirks, unimpressed and perches on the other edge of the sofa. 

“Fine. Better than you by any stretch. I’ve actually met someone.” For a second, Geralt could think she looks shy, the slight purse of her lips or the way she smooths down her black skirts. 

He blinks, and it’s gone. Her lips turn into a smirk and she holds his gaze. 

“You remember Triss? She co-owns a bar up north of here. Taking applicants for live music.” She says smoothly. “Would you know anybody in that profession?”

Geralt narrows his eyes into a glare and tightens his arm around Ciri, the cup shaking slightly in his grip. 

“I might.”

Yennefer seems to consider. She tilts her chin, hair draping over the shoulder of her white blouse. Tutting, she uncrosses her ankles and gets up.

“Stop looking like that. I’m not trying to steal him.” Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe I’ll try and see where it gets me. It’s been so long since you’ve had something I want.” She winks, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her skirt. 

“I’ll let him know.” Geralt forces the words out between his teeth, cheek pressed to the top of Ciri’s head. Her hair was greasy, pulled back in a ponytail, and smelt of sweat and shampoo. Geralt let his eyes close, focusing on his daughter’s steady breathing.

He listens to Yennefer order the pizza before she shuts herself in her study to catch up on work. Geralt relaxes, content to cradle Ciri in his arms. They watch a movie on mute, following the subtitles as Merrida notches an arrow, gasp as she competes for her own hand. Ciri giggles and kicks her feet.

Soon, they’re full of melted cheese and dough and two movies down. Geralt wipes sauce from Ciri’s mouth and gets her ready for bed. She chews on her sleeve as he runs a bath, giggling when Geralt flicks water at her. 

Geralt leaves her in the bubbles, busying himself with making some more peppermint tea.

“Dad?” Ciri splashes as she climbs out of the tub, wrapping herself in a fluffy black towel. Geralt scoops her up with thick arms, dipping her upside down so her wet hair covers her face.

“Dad- dad!” Ciri giggles, her little feet kick in the air where they’re poking out the end of her towel. 

“Let’s get you ready for bed, huh princess?” Geralt carries her through to her room, the hallway lights dimmed down. He shoulders her bedroom door open gently. “What you wana wear?”

He drops her on her bed, working his fingertips against the towel wrapping her ribs to make her laugh. 

“Your jumper and my reindeer pants!” Ciri wriggles her arms free and scrambles away from the tickling. She starts drying her hair, catching where water is dripping over her daisy bedspread. 

“Sure, cub.” Geralt opens her draws, finding the pajama pants in question and shrugs out of his leather jacket to unzip his hoodie. He passes her both items of clothing, grinning as she slips her still-damp arms through his warm hoodie sleeves. 

“Made you more tea.” He pulls his jacket back over his shoulders, the body warmed leather soft over his bare chest. 

“I don’t want more tea.” Ciri throws her towel in his direction, shuffling to get below the covers. 

“I’ll get it anyway.” Geralt rolls his eyes. He fetches the tea from the kitchen, grabbing a strawberry cone from the freezer. He digs a plate out of the cupboard, tipping Roach’s dinner on it before setting it on the floor.

“Okay, Roachie? You can join us when you’re done.” He scratches behind Roach’s ear as he goes back to Ciri’s room. 

The lilac walls are bathed in the soft yellow light from her bedside lamp. Geralt sighs out a grin at the metal picture frame he gave her for her birthday.

The picture featured was taken outside some shitty diner. There’s pizza stains down Geralt’s shirt, chocolate cake around Ciri’s mouth and her hands are fisted in his hair. She’s sat on his shoulders, there’s coloured icing caught in the white strands and her knee had hit his jaw leaving a barely visible pink mark. Eskel is on Geralt’s right, bacon grease and ketchup wiped across his chest, and Lambert is on his back, one arm tight around his neck. 

Geralt can’t help but laugh whenever he sees it, Eskel’s face a shade too red, Lambert’s eyes narrow and stubborn, mustard in his hair. 

They’re a mess, gotten kicked out of the diner for starting a food fight one afternoon. The picture doesn’t show the pink milkshake Ciri had tipped over her uncle's laps and the diners greasy floor. 

“Here, drink this and I’ll tell you a story.” He sets the mug down on the star shaped coaster next to the lamp and passes Ciri the ice cream. 

“You strike a hard bargain.” Ciri mutters, butting her head against Geralt’s hand as his fingers catch a tangle in her damp hair. 

Roach jumps up beside her as Geralt searches for a comb and a hair band. He settles at the edge of Ciri’s bed, one leg tucked underneath him as she leans against his side.

“Okay, where’d we get to?” Geralt starts carefully combing through the ends of Ciri’s hair.

“We had just ran away from Crookback bog.” She supplies, wriggling her fingers, slightly sticky with ice cream, into the soft fur of Roach’s back.

“Ah, I remember. The princess continues fleeing through the forest, tripping over the root of a large tree and stumbling down a steep embankment into a pool of water.” 

Ciri gasps, her head tipping back in his hands. He shushes her gently.

“So, the princess realises quickly that the bank is too steep to climb up. She follows the river bed down through the forest, picking sprigs of wolfsbane and fool’s parsley as she walks. There’s mud on her boots and water splashes up to her knees when she hears a shriek. 

“Below a thick tree branch are three wolves. They jump and snap up at the branch, on which sits a petrified little girl. She struggles to keep her feet up on the branch, yelping whenever a snap of sharp jaw gets too close.”

Geralt part’s her hair, letting the pale yellow strands fall through his fingers as he starts to braid the hair as smoothly as he can. “What does the princess do next?”

“Do you think she’s scared?” Ciri murmurs.

“I don’t know, she might be.” Ciri hums thoughtfully.

“She’s been up against much scarier things than some wolves.” 

“Yeah, cub. But how many times has she failed to save everyone?” Geralt ties off her braid, running his thumb over the bumps. 

“Never. She always wins.”

“Exactly.” 

“If her dad was there, there definitely wouldn’t be anything to be scared of.” Ciri grumbles.

“But she’s okay by herself when her dad can’t get there, see? The princess is quicker than the wolves, her longsword has a sharper bite than the snarling beasties. She helps the little girl down from the tree and tells the princess of how she got lost following the trail of treats. What does the princess know about the trail?” 

“Crookback Bog!” Ciri gasps. “The little girl was sent to the bog that the princess is running from.”

“Anything else?”

“In the house, on the bog. There were missing children posters. But all the children were playing in the bog. The nanny gave them food.”

“Your memory is good.” Geralt compliments quietly. It had been a few weeks since they had last talked about the story, in the back of Eskel’s car after a day at the petting zoo.

“The little girl, her name was Gretka, tells the princess she cannot return home as the Wolf King will not let her! The princess gathers Gretka in her arms and hugs her tight. She promises to take Gretka home safe, if she can remember the way.” 

Geralt feels his phone buzz in his pocket, Ciri making a small noise as he jolsts her on his lap to check the notification. 

_ 2 messages from  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ **

Geralt sighs, dragging the screen down. 

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 19:28 _

_ heey look its usss _

See attached image

“I thought you said Jaskier’s the worst?” Ciri mumbles against his shoulder.

“Yeah he is. He’s loud and messy and he interrupts storytime.” Geralt grins down at her, pinching her nose gently. “So, the princess continues dow-”

“Dad, wait! You can’t ignore Jaskier.” She whines into his jacket, the ice cream around her mouth making the leather damp and sticky. 

“I can and I will.” Geralt growls, with no real bite.

“Daad.” Ciri drags it out, little fingers curling around his wrist to shake the hand that’s holding the phone.

“Fine, yeah.” He grumbles, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 19:28 _

_ heey look its usss _

__ [Image]

Geralt looks at the little cartoon duck, a fluffy yellow duckling peeking out from behind it's legs, rolling his eyes as he types out a reply.

_ To:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 19:31 _

_ Why? _

Ciri laughs, reaching to tap the camera option on his screen. Geralt barely manages to contain his smile, instead turning his head to rest his cheek on the top of Ciri’s head as she takes the picture. She sends it with a cheeky smile that matches the one in the photo.

_ To:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 19:32 _

_ [Image] _

_ Hey look it’s us! _

Geralt watches her type it out carefully, her tongue between her teeth as she concentrates.

“Will you tell me when he answers?” 

“Sure, cub.” Geralt wedges his phone under his thigh. “You wana hear more about the princess?” She nods against his shoulder, sipping her tea. 

Geralt runs through another wolf attack, the princess bravely fending them off before they spot Gretka. He explains how the pair come across half of a small boat, broken and splintered, the remains of a corpse inside of it. 

“What does it look like?” Ciri wriggles closer to him.

“The princess can tell by the head and the eyes that the body hasn't been there very long. She can see something has bitten at his legs, one of the legs and some of his insides are missing. The princess notices the chest is totally crushed, which means-”

“Werewolf!” Geralt hums, her shout covering the buzz of his phone.

“Smart cub. A werewolf. The princess thinks about Gretka’s comment about the Wolf King keeping her from going one and decides to prepare some Cursed Oil. Her and Gretka rest at the fireplace while she makes the oil, before Gretka leads her to a dark cave.”

He describes the King of Wolves vaguely, big with fur he supposes, and explains how the princess manages to win the fight against a much stronger opponent. 

“She did it all by herself?” Ciri lets him take the cup from her hands and put it back on the bedside table. 

“Yeah, cub. She’s really strong, even if she’s scared.” He smooths a hand down her back tucking the blanket in as well as he can around her. He pulls his phone out, unlocking it quickly while she settles between her pillow and Geralt’s side. 

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 19:54 _

_ tgats a nice picture _

_ u hav skin _

_ is nice _

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 20:02 _

_ tge ducs u cus u protectd me tht one night wit the bigg scary gyys _

Geralt clenches his jaw, his eyes rolling so hard in his head it hurts. 

_ To:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 20:08 _

_ Yes. except the baby duck is braver than you were. _

_ Drink some water, you can’t be any good at performing if you’re drunk out of your mind. _

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 20:08 _

_ Oioi i culdav taken em _

_ ill ave u no im great at performin ;)))) )) _

_ will be sobr wen home  _

_ ik how u worry bout me _

_ tel ciri i ay hiiiiiiiio9iiii _

_ To:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 20:10 _

_ Will do. Have a good night. _

_ From:  _ **_Jaskier (the best!)_ ** _ 20:10 _

_ u to big gy xxox _

Geralt jams his phone into his pocket, shaking his head. 

“Jaskier says hi.” He murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from Ciri’s eyes.

“Mm.” Ciri’s eyes are closed and her fingers are lazily stroking through Roach’s fur. “Is he nice to live with?”

“No.” Geralt huffs. “He’s noisy and messy and smelly.” He pinches at the tip of her nose softly, smiling when she scrunches her nose up. 

“Glad you have a friend.” She whispers, so soft Geralt wouldn’t have heard her through his earplugs if he wasn’t watching for her sleepy reply.

“Not my friend. Just a roommate.” He strokes through her hair, bending to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m gona go, okay? Call me tomorrow. I’m free all day.” He murmurs against her hairline. 

Geralt waits until she nods, his zip digging uncomfortably into his stomach, before getting to his feet. He grabs her mug off the bedside table, dimming the lamp.

“Light?” He hovers in the doorway, Roach leaning into his leg.

“No, the lamp is okay.” Geralt nods, smiling at her. He pauses, watching her shuffle around, pulling Geralt’s hood over her face with a grin. “Thanks for comin’, dad.”

“Thank you for inviting me, cub.” Geralt swallows, not sure when his voice got so thick. The ‘goodnight’ sticks in his throat. “Sleep well.”

He heads back into the kitchen, running the hot water in the sink and washes up the used cups and Roach’s plate. Geralt bins the pizza boxes and piles up Ciri’s books on the coffee table, before moving them to her little bookshelf beside the t.v. 

He knocks his knuckles against the study door. 

“Yen? I’m now going.” 

“Thanks, Geralt. Be safe.” Yennefer calls back.

Geralt grits his teeth, zipping up his jacket over his bare chest. He clips Roach’s lead to her harness and fixes where her bandana was sitting crooked. 

He misses Ciri’s warmth. He sits on the cold seats of the subway, Roach’s heat between his calves not quite the same. 

Sometimes Geralt wishes Ciri could have moved into the spare room. They could have painted the walls something other than that pale yet still bright yellow that Jaskier slapped across the walls.

They could have… Geralt sighs through his nose as Roach leads him onto the platform and through the familiar route home. 

Jaskier can recite  _ Brave _ and  _ Finding Dory _ as well as Ciri can, but he also likes the BBC shows. Jaskier dances in the living room with his earphones in, begs Geralt to join in with a similar pout to what Ciri would have. 

Jaskier throws his clothes around and leaves hair in the shower and gets crumbs everywhere, but cleans up after himself almost immediately. Jaskier brings home groceries, wafer cookies and strawberry milk. 

Geralt unlocks his apartment door, stripping Roach out of her harness. He hangs his jacket over the arm of Roach’s chair, locking the door behind him. 

The air is much colder than he thought. He kicks off his boots neatly at the door. 

Geralt must have stood there for too long, staring at the black laces, because Roach butts into his knee gently, 

“Hy, Roachie. You want a drink?” Geralt’s legs feel heavy as he crosses the room to duck around the breakfast bar, flicking the kettle on. He puts the lids on the pasta tubs, now fully cool, and stores them in the fridge. 

Geralt fills Roach’s bowl with fresh water, smiling when she winks a soft, brown eye up at him.

He settles in front of her armchair, leaning against the cushion. The air is cold, there’s a breeze skating over the room but Roach curls up behind him with her head on his shoulder. He slips his headphones off, chucking them on the coffee table but pokes his earplugs in more firmly.

He loses track of time sitting there, his shoulders set so tense they ache. Roach shifts on his shoulder, tongue warm and wet as she licks his cheek but her soft whines don't shift his glassy gaze.

His eyes are open, he thinks. They itch and feel dry in his sockets but he doesn’t have the energy to blink. There’s hair tickling his neck and his hands are numb from where they’re flattened under his thigh. 

His fingers are numb and there’s a slight ringing in his ears, the material of the cushion prickles his skin and he forces his spine out straight, Roach whining as her head is dislodged and there’s hair tickling his neck.

The floor is cold under his ass and the soles of his bare feet and the window is open and there’s hair tickling his neck.

His teeth are clenched so tight his jaw hurts and there’s a breeze dancing from the night sky into the dim living room and there’s hair tickling his neck.

There’s a breeze dancing over his bare chest and caressing the scar on his shoulder and the wind scratches almost as hard as the actual blade did and there’s hair tickling his neck and he forces his hands impossibly flatter onto the floor.

There’s hair tickling his neck and his skin raises in goosebumps and there’s a pit so deep in his stomach that he could just pull out by his intestines if he scratches away the layer of skin and-

There’s hair tickling his neck and the ringing is coupled with the loud throb of blood in his ears and it snaps at his brain and-

There’s hair tickling his neck and he can’t breath and-

There’s a  _ snick _ of a key in the lock, the door being opened with a slight stumble. Guitar case against the wall by the door and the rustle of material as Jaskier bends at the waist to start unlacing his shoes.

Geralt can pinpoint the moment Jaskier notices him. 

He can hear the man stumble with a slight gasp. It quickly dissolves into a huff of a chuckle and he whispers low, closing the door behind him. 

“Geralt? It’s late, why are you still up?” Jaskier crouches at his side, elbows resting on his knees and his head tipped slightly to the left. Geralt’s eyes burn too much to turn so he continues to watch him in his peripheral. 

He smells like vodka and every time he shifts on the balls of his feet, waves of cheap perfume and smoke roll out of his denim jacket.

“Hey, big guy. You with me?” Jaskier tries. He loiters at Geralt’s side, one arm finding its way to bury in Roach’s thick fur. Geralt’s not sure how much time has passed but he’s shivering and the smell of sweat is making his eyes itch all the more and there’s hair tickling  _ his goddamn neck _ and he blinks slowly. 

“Gona shave my fucking head.” He grits, tongue too big in his mouth. Jaskier sucks on his teeth, wetting his bottom lip. 

There’s makeup smudged over Jaskier’s face, a shining gold around his eyes, sweat streaks of black over his cheeks. There’s pink in the corners of his mouth, faded from singing or the way his tongue darts out over his lips.

“Well, we can’t have that. Can we? How about I tie it up for you?” Jaskier’s impossibly gentle and it irritates Geralt. He’s not some fragile thing that will crack or break if you touch it. 

“Fine.” He grounds out, fingers twitching under his thighs at the thought of Jaskier in his space.

“Alright.” 

When did Jaskier take off his shoes? When did he reach to the coffee table and grab the comb and a hair tie? When did he swing a leg around the back of Geralt, settle on the arm of the chair and softly untie the half of his hair that was already up?

“Can you tip your head forward?” Jaskier’s voice is that impossibly gentle tone that makes Geralt want to snarl. But his neck seems to unlock and his chin is touching his chest before he can even think to comply. 

“That’s it, thank you.” There’s a smile in Jaskier’s voice and Geralt has a hard time keeping the ball of irritation from unravelling under his ribs. “I’m going to start brushing your hair now, okay?”

“Mm.” Geralt blinks. Jaskier’s fingers are feather light at his hairline, palm barely holding his head as he carefully starts combing through the strands. He starts at the bottom of his hair, humming softly as he goes. 

Geralt flinches when his wrist brushes the tense line of his shoulder and Jaskier freezes.

“Sorry, I didn’t-” He starts but it's like the touch cut Geralt’s strings. His shoulders ache as he slouches and his head is suddenly too heavy for his neck and he leans forward until his forehead touches his knees. 

“You there?” Jaskier hedges. Geralt grunts and lets out a long, shuddering breath. “Okay, that’s good. You want me to finish your hair?” Geralt makes another sound that was meant to be “ _ fine” _ but it sticks in his throat.

“Yeah, okay. I’ve got you.” The comb is back in his hair, this time at his scalp, gently untangling the knots. “Your hair is so soft, I could brush it for hours.” Jaskier whispers like a confession. “Beautiful colour.” 

Geralt swallows the snort he wants to make. He closes his eyes, focusing on the gentle tug in his hair. Jaskier’s fingers start to twist in his hair, starting on one side of his head to braid it up, away from his neck.

“Genetics. Stress. Anxiety.” Geralt tests each word, feeling the letters form on his tongue. Jaskier hums in acknowledgement and finally  _ finally _ brushes all the hair away from his neck and into the braid. 

“Turned white in my early twenties. When I was in the army. Got discharged soon after.” Jaskier makes a curious noise, securing the braid and tucking the tail back into his hair.

“You need a drink?” Jaskier calls softly as he heads to the kitchen. Geralt opens his eyes but doesn’t lift his head. “Okay, I’ll make you one anyway. Hot chocolate? Of course, I know you secretly like it.” 

Geralt finds himself smiling at Jaskier’s teasing tone. The ringing in his ears has gone, he can hear the steady pump of blood still. But he can hear Jaskier pace in his socks across the floor, the quiet rumble of his kettle, the familiar hum of a song Jaskier’s been working on for a week. 

“You want to sit on the couch? Or get in bed? I’ll bring you your drink. You’re cold, Geralt.” Jaskier’s perched on the coffee table, hands fidgeting. He can tell Jaskier wants to reach for him, but the man settles on picking a loose thread from a rip in his jeans. 

“Can’t move my arms.” Geralt squeezes his eyes shut, barely able to feel below his elbows. 

“Okay. You want my help getting up? Or should I get Roach to knock you over and you can try yourself?” Jaskier asks with a smile in his voice but Geralt knows he’s serious. 

It’s pretty easy to get Roach to push him onto his side. He thinks she enjoys doing it, nudging her big head into his side or shoulder until he falls. He lays on the floor for a long moment, letting Roach’s body weight warm his chest as his hands go tingly. 

Once there’s enough blood back in his fingers, he bends his arms with a grunt and wraps them around Roach. Her fur is soft and she butts against his chin with a sigh. 

“C’mon Roachie.” Geralt whispers, opening his eyes and sticking a hand out in Jaskier’s vague direction. Roach slides off his chest with a huff and Geralt can’t help the smile that she never fails to coax onto his face. 

“Are you sure? I mean-”

“Jaskier.” Geralt interrupts, flexing his fingers. Jaskier acquiesces with a slight frown, clasping Geralt’s wide hand with both of his. Geralt can feel the calluses on his fingertips as he grips his wrist.

“Alrighty, up you get.” Jaskier braces himself with slightly spread feet and Geralt finds he’s able to let most of his weight be tugged up by Jaskier. He stumbles when Geralt’s knees straighten. Geralt’s free hand catches his elbow to steady him, Jaskier’s teeth clacking as his chin knocks against Geralt’s shoulder.

“Easy there, kid.” Geralt clenches his jaw. He can feel Jaskier’s body heat and it makes him break out in goosebumps. Jaskier wets his lips as he takes a small step back, fingers dragging softly over Geralt’s wrist. His own grip is tighter than he had meant to hold Jaskier’s wrist but his fingers won’t listen when he tells them to let go.

He loosens his grip when the kettle clicks off, the sound making Jaskier jump a little. Geralt smiles softly in thanks and heavy legs carry him to his room. He hears Roach pad behind him, jumping up onto his bed. 

Geralt sinks into the mattress, head missing the pillows but Roach curls into his side and rests her head on his stomach. He can see the faint light from the kitchen but doesn’t move to turn the bedside light on. He sees Jaskier’s shadow, moving slowly as he appears with two mugs.

“Can I come in?” 

“Hmm.” Geralt waves a hand but lets his eyes roll back. Jaskier chuckles low and sets one mug on the bedside table. 

“You want a light on?” Jaskier waits impossibly patiently, rocking on his heels, until Geralt grunts. “That’s okay. You want to be alone? Or can I stay for a bit?” 

What Geralt wants it to wrap his fingers around Jaskier’s throat and squeeze that stupidly gentle yet somehow not condescending tone off his tongue. He wants to squeeze so hard Jaskier’s feet lift from the floor and scream at him to  _ shut up. _

Instead he grunts. He lays one arm over his eyes, the other stretching behind his head to tap the top of the lamp on the other table. He listens to Jaskier appreciative hum and feels the bed dip as he sits at the edge. 

Roach is warm on his stomach, and he frowns as Jaskier lays down. He takes his arm off his eyes and tucks his hand behind his head.

Jaskier has his cup resting on his chest, feet hanging off the edge of the bed. Geralt could knock his foot against Jaskier’s if he felt like it. The thought almost makes him smile. 

“I made yours with mostly milk so it shouldn’t be too hot.” Jaskier murmurs, his own hands wrapped around his cup, fingers tracing the rim. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling and there’s make up chasing sweat tracks on his cheeks.

“Hmm.” Geralt sits up briefly, to grab his cup, Roach huffing as her head slips off his stomach. 

“You wana tell me what got you sat there?” Again with that reassuring voice that washes over Geralt’s aching muscles. 

“I… Hmm. The window was open.” 

“Ah.” Jaskier hums. He cranes his neck to sip his cocoa, chocolate smearing ungracefully over his top lip. 

“I sometimes forget which one of us is the walking disaster.” Geralt grumbles, raising an eyebrow at him. Jaskier meets his gaze with a dazzling smile and chocolate stained teeth. 

It could scare him, if he thought about it. How easily Jaskier drains the tension from his shoulders. How quickly he felt like himself again. How he actually had a self, not this shaking, sad excuse of a shell. How Jaskier met his bite with snark, put his cups in the sink even if he left stains on the coffee table.

“Oh, come on. Just this morning you poured orange juice into your cereal instead of milk!” Jaskier points an accusing finger at him, voice still low but gaining a joyful edge. 

“You were the one that ate it instead of letting me throw it away!” Geralt barks out a sharp laugh. 

“Well, I wasn't about to let you waste it!” Jaskier rolls his eyes. Geralt shook his head, exasperated. 

“I can buy you more damn cereal, Jaskier.” 

“What about the juice?” Jaskier raises his own delicate eyebrow. There's a smear of gold beneath the bow of his brow. 

“And the juice.” Geralt pushes up onto one arm, bringing his cup to his mouth. He watches Jaskier think it over, blue eyes narrowing as he bites his bottom lip. 

“Fine, next time you make your cereal with orange juice instead of milk, I will allow you to throw it away.” Jaskier relents with a dramatic sigh. Geralt hums, the corner of his mouth twitching in a victorious smile as he drinks.

“Is it good? Hasn’t gone cold?” Jaskier worries his lip between his teeth, eyes following the bob of Geralt’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. 

“ ‘S good.” Geralt nods, draining his cup. “Go to bed, you have work at 10.” 

He ignores the way Jaskier pokes his tongue out as he gets off Geralt’s bed. 

“G’night, big guy. Don’t forget to take your earplugs out.” Jaskier waves at the door. Geralt sets his cup back on the bedside table and lays back down, one arm tucked behind his head. He listens to Jaskier’s soft sigh and the opening and closing of the bedroom door. 

Geralt doesn’t move much, just tucks his feet under the blanket and stretches his other arm to rest on Roach’s back, flick out the earplugs and toss them on his bedside table. He might have slept, but for hours he drifts, his vision in relaxed doubles and the everpresent knot in his chest slightly loosened. 

He gets up before Jaskier, not that himself or Roach is surprised. 

Geralt slides two pieces of bread in the toaster, ready to be pulled down. He fills and boils the kettle, checking the clock on the microwave every 23 seconds. 

Geralt huffs. He rubs his palms along Roach’s sides and lets her lick up his cheek, her tail banging softly on a cupboard door. This lasts all of three minutes until Geralt’s fingers itch. 

He makes a coffee, watching the clock as he starts to drink it before it cools down. His tongue protests but it's easier to focus on the sharp heat than the feeling of  _ uselessness _ he was avoiding. 

He readies a cup with sugar, milk and a teabag. He gets one of the pasta tubs and puts it in Jaskier’s lunch bag. He fetches his cocoa cup from the night before and washes it up, along with the few other pieces of cutlery and crockery in the sink.

He knocks on Jaskier’s bedroom door over an hour later, when the microwave shows him 08:45. 

“Get up or you’ll be late.” He bangs his fist on the door again until he hears Jaskier’s bed creak as he climbs out of it. 

“Alright, alright.” Jaskier yawns as he opens the door. His hair is horrendously mussed up, completely flattened on one side. There’s still mascara and faint pink smudges of lipstick on his skin. 

Geralt ducks into his bedroom as Jaskier takes up residence in the bathroom. He makes his bed, straightens his pillows, turns his lamp off. Geralt makes tea, pulling the bread down in the toaster when he hears the shower turn off and the bathroom door open. 

Jaskier comes in with wet hair that curls around his ears but he's dressed, converse unlaced on his feet. He makes grabby hands at the tea and slides into a seat across from Geralt at the breakfast bar. 

They eat, Geralt’s bowl of cheerios and milk, Jaskier’s toast and jam, spreading crumbs over the counter because  _ what’s the point of a plate, Geralt? Honestly _ , before ducking back in the bathroom and cleaning his teeth.

Jaskier pulls on a black sweater over his highlighter green shirt, tying his laces and grabbing his lunchbox from beside the kettle. He pauses, weighing it in his hand, before sliding it into his messenger bag.

“Thank you, darling.” Jaskier winks as he goes to leave, fingers squeezing Geralt’s shoulder gently before he heads out the door, keys between his teeth and toothpaste in the corner of his mouth. 

Geralt ends up with a spoon bent out of shape clutched in his fist and his cheerios are soggy. The brief heat from the pads of Jaskier’s fingers on his bare shoulder had faded as soon as the contact broke but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the door. 

Roach sits heavily against his stool, butting his thigh.

“Hm? Oh. Hey, Roachie.” Geralt drops his warped spoon in favour of running his fingers over Roach’s head. He feels strangely calm as he drains his coffee. The feeling stays as he clears away the breakfast things, washing them up with loose shoulders.

It takes about a month for Geralt to fuck it up.

**Author's Note:**

> ive never posted an incomplete work before, i dont have an upload schedule and the last chapter isnt complete yet so i understand if you dont want to read this! but thank you for taking the time and i hope u liked it
> 
> as always let me know if i missed a tag or somethin:))
> 
> tumblr: bloodyjacksparrow


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